Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
What is time? Who invented it?
This made-up thing having some need to
emphasize a visual and audible record of
each passing second, minute and hour of
every' single day and night? Inspiring the
human creation of automated mechanical
clocks of every shape and size, ornate or
plain all in a synchronized pace that matches
with the precise rhythmic beat of our own
human hearts.

Devises that dictate and define our days
and nights, tell us when to eat, sleep, pray
or be somewhere. These invented Machines
that created human stress and anxiety, and
control our lives, while all the other living
creatures of wing and paw on this orb Earth
live well, mostly unfettered lives in balance
with the simple rising and setting of the sun,
having no compulsion or need to count or
record the seconds, minutes or hours and
or be somewhere. Just living in the moment.
I get it folks, I was "ON The Clock" most
of my working life and prided myself
on never being late for an appointment.
But now, I have reached the age of not
really caring what time it is, like the other
creatures of the planet I am on the "Movement
of the sun time", and that seems to be working
just fine for me. But I am very aware that my life
clock is still ticking away.
A man, dejected
with a broken heart,
snapped all the ties
from his world,
roamed about places
one to the next
in search of peace.

One day he found himself
in a distant Fairy Land.
The fairies were surprised
to find him amongst them.
One fairy asked him
what he wanted.
Taken aback by the question
he said ,"A new heart."
The fairy said,"Don't worry, we do have a heart shop."
She took him there.
There he saw all kinds of hearts-
Some made of gold, some of silver,
and some normal too.

In another corner he saw
a collection of broken hearts
beautifully kept.
Out of curiosity he asked the fairy
why they kept those broken hearts.
She smiled and said,
"They are the epic story tellers."
Amazed by her words,
he left with his broken heart
back to his world.
Generous and kind acts,
What is charity to you?
Give away my thing,
Now is it right to call it mine?

Service to other, who are we
servicing really?
What is the true nature
helping is being kind simply.

Toppled by feeling good,
Is it for others or self?
Elated within
Reminiscing with pride.

Do you wish to give away all of yours
To your kin or strangers?
trinkets of mine, now owned by so many
The resource from earth, passes on.

With our last breath, who are we
donating skin and eyes, the body will pass on
Who am I, a soul?
This life ends, but possession remains
What becomes of me, where do I go?
Bowing to the ***** god,
I lived like a pleasure
seeking missile, propelled
toward all things ME.
Empty as a carcass.
Hungry as a desert.
I didn't see the
strawberry moon of
summer.
It was me and the
Ferryman, until the
river ran dry.
Eternal winter for
the soul.

And then

A revolution in my
being.
A total shift in
my values and
perception.
The Creator purchased
my dilapidated heart.
He moved in and lives
there still.

My home, on the outside
might look like
a shack to some, but inside
it's a mansion with the
most sublime bread you
ever tasted.
Fruit trees in every room.
Here is a link to my latest YouTube poetry reading.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tpMDoNXg_U
My books are available on Amazon.  They are Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse, and my latest book, Sleep Always Calls
He loved to teach...

He loved to teach her...

He loved to teach her abject lessons
      in elevators and on stairwells.


She hated to learn...

She hated to learn from him...

She hated to learn from him the inherent
       danger of buildings.
Nearly 1 in 4 women in the United States have experienced severe physical violence by an intimate partner during their lifetime.
So many places
that I wanted to see.
I traced new paths on the maps,
softly, with my hands.

Certain journeys were never taken.
I will keep them in my memory.

I looked for the lost keys,
and I saved the never-bought tickets
in small boxes of my heart.

I smile at the happier people
through colored glasses,
held to my eyes.

This is my eternity closed into moments.

Walking alone by the Tiber’s side,
I entered the antiquarian bookstore,
finding synchronic sentences,
small insights,
and I came back with relief.

To my home—to myself.
Without excuses,
without doubts,
without fears.

Writing my song of the world
that flows through me.
The old reality transformed
into a new technological skin.

Now, when I open my window,
I breathe the scent of jasmine.
The rain after the storm is so calming.

I see my solitude chosen,
my friend,
my tender companion.

Being with her,
I am present
with all my senses.

Now,
the one who remains.
The only one.
all these I see, in realized eyes and whimsical musings,
in perfect silence, for the Sunday city morning
is worshiping the coming day in a church like silence,
where each patron fills in the empty sounds
with hymns of their own making...by moving their lips
in fervent unspokeness
anthem

we pledge allegiance
to each other, our state
of-just-the-two-of-us,

hands on each other’s
heart, we cocoon, snuggle,
it’s always warm in our land

like Camelot, never rains,
always in agreement, every
votes never tied, for we are

a colorless world, only one,
the color of the day, is what
we feel, create, and believe

we sing only duets, our music,
only perfect pitch harmonies,
this our anthem, sung twice daily

when the sun should rise,
and when it should set, but,
since our sun never leaves

we do it for pure pleasure
some days, I love me my simple.
the best thing you could teach two another

is how to love themselves,
so they can return the favor;
now that would be a refund!
This woman by my side
I see her sadness deep
Her eyes filled with longing
secrets she softly keep

Her torment well hidden
masked by a fleeting smile
Yet within, a fragile child
weeps all the while.

In her presence, I feel her pain, so achingly clear
Like raindrops on the soul, her fears draw near

Her sorrow touches me
a single tear is shed
And I open my heart
to the anguish in which she's tread

This woman, so near
yet somehow far away
A glimmer of hope
like a star in the night's array

Though a stranger to the person I used to be,
This reflection is a reminder that I am still she
Next page